Magic and Technology
by Shea Fahlin
Summary: A fiction of Xanth, of a military man from the future finding himself in medieval Xanth.
1. Introduction

A Brief Introduction to Xanth

Xanth is an imaginative world that sprung from the mind of Piers Anthony, a highly talented writer, and the Xanth series is easily my favorite book series ever.

In the world of Xanth, each and every person is bestowed with a single magical ability. This ability can vary greatly; some people can do little more than make a discolored spot on a wall, while some have massive and earth-shattering powers, and some have powers anywhere in between. The area itself is a peninsula not unlike Florida, here in America. Of course, dragons aren't a major problem in Florida, now are they?

The barrier between Xanth and our world—which Xanthians call Mundania—is unique because it crosses both space and time. Thus, a person could enter Xanth from the 1300's and leave at the year 2000 spending only a few minutes in Xanth; or vice-versa, heading into the past.

However, mention has been made that the barrier extends into the future, as well...

I do not own Xanth. I do not own it in a box, nor do I own it with a fox. On the upside, I've got a pretty groovy children's rhyme going here... Xanth is property of Piers Anthony (or maybe the publishing company, I'm no longer sure how this stuff works.) so I don't pretend to own it. Though I could. If I was a bad person.

MY CHARACTERS are indeed my own, however. They are:

Mark Levin, a military man from the future who gets separated from his patrol and stumbles into Xanth on... accident?...

Sahrah, a young girl with a unique but exploitable talent: the ability to grant other people's wishes, but not her own...

And Trace, the old geezer who gets mixed up in it all, and uses his talent—hearing aurasongs—to great effect...

Now leave me. Go. I need time to come up with a point. Go! GO I SAY!!!


	2. 1: Mark

"Go toss your ugly, rotten carcass in an incinerator"

Mark Levin, Lance Corporal of the UEM Marines, whooped with mirth as several more of the odd burrs fell away. Whoever planned this prank was a genius! Platoon Six-Two had its share of troublemakers and self-proclaimed comedians, but never something this well planned or executed... or nearly this fun. Of course, he owed the perpetrator a beating for it - malicious and mid-shift to boot - but maybe he'd limit it to a light beating, since he hadn't been this amused since... well, since joining the Marines.

It would've had to be someone in engineering. The way his suit had malfunctioned... Mark hadn't seen anything like it - all readouts green, everything active, generator purring, no shorts, no problems, but the suit just wouldn't move! The computer was convinced the armor was fine, but it might as well have flared out - A PAS-227 "Hoplite" was just a half-ton of titanium and wiring if it didn't want to move for the soldier inside, and his comms system was just as unresponsive. He'd had to climb out and proceed on foot, trekking through the woods like a rookie at boot, aiming for the Beimeni military compound near Tallahassee.

It had been so long since he'd trekked bare that he'd forgotten a lot of the natural hazards of the forest - for instance, the patch of burrs he'd stumbled into. What a pain! They'd latched on like piranhas, stinging his skin even through his jumpsuit, and no matter how he clawed at them, they wouldn't come off! He finally fought his way out of the burr patch and spent several minutes picking at the ones on his skin, but his only reward was cuts on his fingers. The stinging cut through his patience quickly, and he started cursing...

...and each time he did, a burr fell off!

Getting the rest of them off was quick and fun. Mark discovered quickly enough that once he used a line, it wouldn't work again, so he'd started rattling off some of the better quotes from around the base, with some of the better curses getting two or three burrs off at once. Someone had put a lot of work into the little things - probably microcomputers, with sound recognition and networking. Curse burrs, he called them, laughing up a storm at the idea. Someone could make a lot of money in the gag market with them.

He looked at the last burr on his arm, shook his head. "Screw you," he said with a grin, and watched it fall, defeated and deactivated, to the ground. Then he shoulderd his emergency pack and continued his walk through the forest, determined not to fall into another trap so easily.

* * *

Mark had left his suit behind around midday, and it was edging on evening when he finally found a path. The day had been mostly quiet, and he'd spent most of the march contemplating how the phantom prankster had managed to confuse a computer into thinking that clearly malfunctioning armor was still in perfect working order. It was no mean feat - the security systems were top-notch and absolutely noone but the head tech specialist and his assistant was allowed access. Mark was certain neither of them had planned this, since neither of them had the slightest sense of humor.

He hadn't been taking more than a passing notice of the flora around him, so it came as an awful surprise when, walking along the newfound path, he came upon a small and often-used campsite centered around a small tree which appeared to be budding... pies.

_Pies?_

He stared at it in confusion for several moments, the majority of his brain puzzling over the idea of pies growing on a tree while a smaller portion noted that the tree was budding, even though it was the middle of fall. This mild shock lasted until the wind shifted, and brought the scent of fresh-baked fruit pies to his nostrils, at which point his stomach decided the brain was taking far too long to comprehend the situation and took executive control of the rest of the body.

Nightfall found Mark sitting with his back against a tree, checking over his blaster, his stomach full of apple pie and his mind abuzz with the odd events of the day. His conviction in the idea that it was all a prank was somewhat shaken - no genetic engineering program he'd ever heard of had planned to, or even could, create a tree that grew pies... especially not ones that tasted almost exactly like the ones his grandmother made. There had to be a rational explanation somewhere, but it was better at hiding than Mark was at being seeker.

Of course, Mark reflected, it didn't matter - tomorrow would find him at Beimeni, and he'd be able to get answers. Maybe he'd stumbled upon some top secret genetic experiments, or something of that nature. It wouldn't be the first time the American Protectorate had lied about its research goals.

Suddenly, a nasty thought struck him - how in the world would he explain pie trees to his sergeant?

As the night progressed, Mark finally calmed his mind enough to slip into an uneasy sleep, filled with strange nightmares of being stuck in immobile armor while his sergeant yelled at him for eating pie, the rant causing curse burrs to fall off the sergeant's body in droves.

* * *

Mark woke before sunup. After three years in the military, that was one habit that was hard to break; even on leave, even after staying up past midnight to hang out with friends, he'd always woken up at five in the morning. This particular morning felt a lot like his mornings during that particular leave - his mind still foggy from sleepiness, and his body moving sluggishly. He pulled a bottle of water from his pack and drank half of it, then splashed the rest on his face, the cold liquid bringing him from the realm of half-sleep to that of nearly-awake. He wished, not for the first time, that he could override his habits and get just a couple more hours of shut-eye.

Still, despite his desire to get more rest, Mark was rather glad he'd woken up the same time as usual - he always enjoyed watching the sunrise, and there was a little hill not far down the path where he'd have a nice vantage point. He might even be able to see Beimeni from there.

After his morning exercises, Mark picked out a cherry pie (which, in complete defiance of the second law of thermodynamics, was warm in the crisp morning air), and jogged toward the hill to watch the sky. The horizon was still dark, which puzzled Mark slightly - the first glow of morning should have been visible by now. Maybe he'd woken up earlier than he thought?

As he looked down to glance at his watch, a massive, deafening ripping sound rolled over him, causing the entire earth to shake! He leapt to his feet and looked up at the sky, expecting to see enemy bombers - and gazed, dumbstruck, at the scene before him.

From the horizon the the apex of the sky, a huge, jagged crack ripped the night in half. Through it, the warm light of morning speared out over the forest, and the rising sun peered over the horizon. Even as Mark watched, the crack widened and spread, and within moments, the dark night sky had dissappeared past the horizon, leaving the morning behind.

A single thought bobbed to the surface of Mark's mind, floating atop the confusion.

_The crack of dawn..._

* * *


	3. 2: Sahrah

Sahrah watched the sun rise slowly, its rays chasing the shadows down the path to where she stood. The crack of dawn had woken her, but she was ready to get a move on anyways - today, or maybe tomorrow, she would reach the isthmus.

It was hard, every day, to collect her things and continue down that path. It had been hard when she left North Village, over a week ago, and it had gotten harder every day, but her resolve was solid. She was certain that it was the only way to deal with the talent she had been cursed with. Going to Mundania...

She caught a butterfly, using it to butter a slice of breadfruit, while she mulled it over yet again in her head. She had thought her worries were over, the day the Storm King died, all those years ago, but she should have known better. Eventually, someone figured out her talent, and spread it around, and then her life had sunk to its lowest point. The talent to grant other people's wishes... why couldn't she summon water, or cause hotseats, or simply make a discolored spot on a wall? Instead, she was subjected to the greed of her fellow villagers. Women wishing to be pretty, to get the man of their dreams, men wishing to be rich, to be magicians, people wishing every day, every time they saw her, and it drained her of energy...

Then one boy wished for her to kiss him.

That was the day she had left. At first, she didn't know where she was going to go. Somewhere - anywhere! - that she could get away from people and their wishes. She'd wandered north, into the forests, and left the enchanted paths to forage in the fields. After a time, though, she'd gotten so lonely... her talent, her curse, kept her away from people, but she desired, so much, to be with her old friends, even with their greed fresh in her memory. Better to have no talent at all, to be magic-less, like a mundane...

That, of course, was the thought that started her down the path north.

Not that she _wanted _to go to Mundania, that dreary magic-less world, but it was better than having this horrid talent! And better than being alone in the wilderness, with only tangle trees and dragons to keep you company. She'd been worried, on that path, that she might run into someone who'd recognize her, be searching for her... and if they wished for her to come back to North Village with them, she would have to. She couldn't keep herself from granting wishes. And then her life would go back to what it was.

Luckily, she hadn't met anyone at all along the road. It had been a quiet trek, almost peaceful, and despite her loneliness, she had enjoyed it. Now it was almost to a close.

What would she do in Mundania? She didn't really know anything about it, except that it was magic-less. Was it like her home village? Would she make friends, find a place to live, be happy?

She sighed and set out along the trail again, walking towards her future.

* * *

As she traveled, Sahrah thought about all she was leaving behind. Her parents, back in North Village... her dreams of visiting Castle Roogna someday... her friends, some closer than others... finally, she couldn't bear more of those thoughts, and turned her attention to the trail in front of her.

It was a bright, beautiful day, and the forest always intrigued her. She passed a strange, rather complex log that seemed to be playing music - a log-a-rhythm. She loved music but was never very good at math, so the purpose of the log-a-rhythm escaped her. Still, it was nice to listen to until she walked too far away to hear it. A little while later, another path crossed the one she was on. She wondered where it went, but when she turned to follow it, she decided she didn't care that much. It wasn't until several steps later that she realized that it was actually a pathy - it made people disinterested and uncaring.

She carried on like this for some time, reveling in the wild puns that infested the forest away from the enchanted paths. She understood that these puns were a result of the magic, and in the back of her mind it made her sad to know that she was leaving them behind, but she ignored that feeling and enjoyed the day while she could.

Near midday she came to a bend in the path and paused. There, a little ways down the path, was a man. He was fit and dressed in a black jumpsuit, with close-cropped hair, and he reminded her of the ex-soldier who lived in North Village - the same body structure, the same way of holding himself. He was staring at her, and she almost turned and ran before realizing that he wasn't someone she knew. Her fear argued with her loneliness, but loneliness won, and with a few deep breaths, she steeled herself and walked forward to say hello.

* * *


End file.
